


Double-Take of Feeling

by sundaysabotage



Category: Derry Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mentions of alcohol, the love is requited they're just eejits, to be honest there probably isn't enough swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29720898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundaysabotage/pseuds/sundaysabotage
Summary: History says, 'Don’t hopeOn this side of the grave'But then, once in a lifetime,The longed for tidal waveOf justice can rise up,And hope and history rhyme.- Seamus HeaneyJames, Erin, and the Good Friday Agreement.
Relationships: James Maguire/Erin Quinn
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	Double-Take of Feeling

_‘Call miracle self-healing,_

_The utter self-revealing_

_Double-take of feeling._

_If there’s fire on the mountain_

_And lightning and storm_

_And a god speaks from the sky_

_That means someone is hearing_

_The outcry and the birth-cry_

_Of new life at its term._

_It means once in a lifetime_

_That justice can rise up_

_And hope and history rhyme.’_

_~ from The Cure at Troy by Seamus Heaney_

It starts like this.

James Maguire wakes up on the morning of Saturday April 11th 1998 nursing a God-Almighty hangover. When he goes downstairs, he finds his aunt and uncle off to work as normal and spends an hour eating dry toast with Michelle on the sofa watching re-runs of cartoons, both of them too tired and too hungover to bother with antagonism.

But rather than rejoicing over the signing of the Good Friday Agreement and the end of a conflict which began years before he was even born, James is filled with nothing but dread, terrified of the phone-call which is bound to come.

He picks at his toast and tries not to think about it even as the events of last night play in his head over and over again on a viscous loop.

It was just the atmosphere he tells himself, just the madness of the evening, the alcohol making them reckless and stupid.

Finally 18, their gang had been allowed to go down to the pub like proper adults, people from both sides of the conflict flooding the streets in celebration. It was hot in the pub and his head felt dizzy with drink and giddy relief. Joe McCool had bought him a pint of Guinness and despite its bitter taste James had slugged it down like he had something to prove. Orla was mixing her personal favourite poison, a bizarre concoction of Malibu and milk, which she insisted tasted just like a milkshake.

Clare, hopped up on Jägerbombs, kept dissolving into uncontrollable giggles, knocking against his side and causing him to laugh too. It felt wrong not to laugh, it felt wrong to think anything bad or serious or real. All that existed was their table with the wobbly leg tucked away in the corner, the happiness pouring from every patron, music ringing out, and the taste of alcohol on his tongue.

He did not notice Erin had slipped out of their booth until Michelle got up to change the song on the jukebox. James caught sight of her heading out the door and did not think twice about following her into the chilly April night. The street was still crowded enough, people spilling out of different bars along the street, someone playing music. He found her leaning against the shuttered exterior of a nail salon a few doors down, she stood there, head tilted to the sky, breathing in the night air, about as calm as Erin ever managed to be.

“Alright?” he asked leaning against the window next to her.

“Aye, it’s just a bit mad in there. Feels strange.”

“It’s been quite a night.” Which was putting it mildly to say the least.

Perhaps it was the cool breeze that hit them, causing Erin to shiver in her short-sleeved shirt and denim skirt, or maybe it was the slightly surreal feeling that had gripped the nation at 5:30 that evening when the news had broken, but the need to reach out and touch her, to wrap his arm around her shoulder and pull her closer was too strong to resist. Erin returned the embrace, dropping her head to rest against his denim-clad shoulder.

“I still don’t really believe it,” she whispered, words hushed like a confession, as though raising her voice would break the spell and this newfound peace would evaporate like water.

“It’s all going to change, Erin. No more barricades, no more bombs, no more soldiers searching school buses.”

“I know. But I’m still waitin for the other shoe to drop,” she said softly. “It feels wrong to get my hopes up.”

James didn’t have the words to comfort her, some part of him had the same fears niggling at his brain. But then it came to him, words that did not belong to him but words he had read time and again and memorised without even realising.

“History says don’t hope on this side of the grave, but then, once in a lifetime, the longed for tidal wave of justice can rise up, and hope and history rhyme.”

Erin looked up at him, she was so close he could see darker flecks of blue in her grey eyes.

“Did you just quote Seamus Heaney at me?” she asked.

“He’s your favourite, right?”

Although James already knew the answer to that, after all it was Erin who had insisted he read that poem. James had never been interested in poetry before meeting Erin and he still wasn’t, but he could make an exception for her. Somehow it all made sense when Erin explained it to him.

Maybe it was just that once in a lifetime feeling, the sense of hope, the stirring knowledge of a future age of peace. Or maybe it was the drink, both of them driven over their limits by the general merriment, the feeling of endless possibility heightened by endless rounds of vodka sprites. But James wasn’t thinking about any of that when she kissed him. He wasn’t thinking of anything but how right it felt, how for the first time everything in his life was falling exactly into place.

When they parted there was a moment he felt the urge to confess almost 3 years of unacknowledged feelings but before he could get the words out, a car shot down the road, the driver blaring their horn madly and passengers hanging out the open windows, cheering and frantically waving white flags of peace causing other people milling about the street to respond in kind. And just like that the moment was gone. They moved apart just in time for Michelle to stumble out of the pub and call out to them.

“There yous are, c’mon to fuck, your Aunt Sarah just bought a round of tequilas!”

James remembers how Erin had met his eyes and smiled at him, a wide and carefree smile which he returned before following her back into the heady heat of the pub. The tequila burned going down, but it washed away the lump in his throat and sent him tipping over the edge into a fresh wave of drunken insouciance.

Who cares if Erin had kissed him? Who cares if he had fancied her since his first summer in Derry? Who cares if his A-Levels were just around the corner? Who cares if he didn’t have a fucking clue what he wants to do with his life?

These were all problems for another day and another James, one who was sober and hadn’t just snogged his best friend on the street.

But now James is sober and as Saturday dwindles away he does not hear from Erin. He debates getting dressed and going to her house but the idea that she regrets it or God-forbid hates him for it keeps him slumped on the sofa with Michelle for most of the day. He’d never known Erin to avoid confrontation, so her silence probably means she doesn’t even remember it or she’s embarrassed or thinks it was a huge mistake.

So what if it’s all James can think about? The last thing he wants is to make Erin uncomfortable. No, he would take her lead as the clearest indicator on how to proceed.

On Sunday, when the hangovers have finally cleared, James and Michelle are dragged along to Easter Mass and it is not until James sees Erin across the aisle, kneeling with half-bored and half-resigned solemnity, that he is forced to confront the consequences of snogging his best friend.

He remembers with stunning clarity the feeling of her lips pressed against his and how tenderly she touched his face, how all he could do was close his eyes and kiss her back, feeling like his heart might actually burst out of his chest.

Because it wasn’t just the atmosphere, it wasn’t the drink or a lapse of judgment or a throw-away mistake. At least not for him.

After Mass he stands with her, heart aching, outside the chapel and he can’t bring himself to broach the subject. Erin doesn’t let on anything is amiss, perhaps rambling more than usual but nothing extreme, nothing like the double-take of feeling he is experiencing. Instead she spends 10 minutes regaling him with the story of Anna’s epic meltdown that morning when Mary tired to put her in her Easter dress.

“Mammy told her if she didn’t wear it then the Easter Bunny would come back while we were at Mass and take her chocolate egg.”

“Well it seems to have worked.”

James can see Anna racing around the little patch of green next to the chapel, participating in the Easter egg hunt they throw for the kids every year. Orla of course is ‘helping’ her look, her pockets no doubt filled with spoils for herself. Their pink dresses do not match but the material is the same soft blush colour, the same colour Erin is wearing, and both will no doubt become covered in grass stains before the morning is out.

“Are you jokin?” Erin scoffs. “She nearly screamed the house down. Daddy had to bribe her with a pick’n’mix from Dennis’ to get her settled at all. Wee madam always manages to get her own way in the end.”

“Bit like you then?” he retorts.

“Don’t be a dick James.”

She gives him a playful shove and launches into another rant, this time about how Orla went and stole her good hairbrush. Clare and Michelle soon join them, and Orla eventually wanders over with a host of stolen Cadbury cream eggs. It feels almost just the same as always.

So, they don’t talk about it.

The memory of the kiss haunts him through their last weeks at school and they do not talk about it, not when there is studying to be done for their A-Level exams. But then when school ends, they do not talk about it, even though their secondary school days are now behind them and everything feels like it’s changing.

They don’t talk about it when James and Michelle once again join the Quinn-McCool clan in Portnoo over the 12th of July weekend. The summer continues on, long lazy days and long restless nights and still they do not talk about it.

James knows they should, really, he does. He knows that leaving things unsaid is how the seeds of bitterness are sown, seeds which grow and blossom into sneaking vines of resentment, vines which strangle relationships, squash intimacy. He has seen it first-hand with his mother and step-father. He doesn’t want history to repeat itself and the voice in his head which sounds irritatingly like Michelle hisses at him to stop being a fucking coward and just talk to her already. But James has always found that his bravery fails him just when he needs it most.

Besides, Erin doesn’t bring up the kiss so why should he?

After a while it’s almost easy to act like it never happened at all.

But it did.

By August he thinks it might just kill him. But it would be weird to bring it up now, wouldn’t it? Months after the fact? They’ve left it too long and it would be stupid to upset things. Part of being a grown-up is accepting that some things are not meant to be and honestly James thinks it’s awfully mature of them to be able to still be such close friends.

So what if James still thinks about it sometimes? Probably too often considering they _are_ such close friends. But as he keeps reminding himself, a real friendship with Erin is infinitely more important than some hypothetical notion of a romantic relationship with Erin.

A-Level results day looms and it feels like everything is coming to an end, as the day creeps closer their group makes a point of spending every available moment together. They all have different plans for the future and no matter where they end up the reality will mean significantly less time with one another.

The night before the results come out finds the five of them in the cinema in a bid to take their minds off their futures, but for James watching _Armageddon_ only intensifies the feeling that his world is ending. Afterwards they decide to sleep over at Erin’s, like old times. James and the girls have spent countless hours here, sharing meals at the Quinn’s kitchen table, watching films on video while squashed onto their couch, studying for exams in Erin’s bedroom.

James has perhaps spent more time here than anywhere else in the last four years, he struggles to find a memory of Derry that does not somehow involve this house or the people who make it a home.

They aim to stay up together but Orla knocks out first, curled up in a ball at the foot of Erin’s bed. Then slowly Clare begins to drift off, half mumbling in her sleep. They know Michelle is gone when she quiets down about how Ben Affleck is a total ride and instead her snores fill the room.

By 3am it's just James and Erin left, both tired but unable to sleep. They sneak downstairs and make cups of tea, sitting on the kitchen floor with just a lamp on for light. They are 18 but it still feels like children breaking rules, whispering in the dark.

“It’s so much change all at once,” she sighs. Sometimes Erin’s bravado gets the better of her, but there is no bravado here between the two of them. It makes it easy to be vulnerable.

“It’s going to be okay. Sometimes change is good – the biggest change of my life brought me here. To all of you.”

“And you don’t regret never going back?”

“This is my home,” he says, because it’s the truth and James is so tired of hiding the truth, “it’ll always be my home. I’m a Derry girl, remember.”

“Right.”

It is quiet and warm in the kitchen. The night is dark but with the lamp there is enough light for just the two of them.

“James?”

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you ring? After that night? I waited, but you never rang and I thought – or I’d hoped you would.”

They are alone in the kitchen and the light shines just for the two of them and James is so tired of hiding the truth.

“I was worried you’d regret it, I was worried you’d realised you just want to be friends.”

“Well, I didn’t…I don’t. I don’t just want to be friends.”

He doesn’t know where he plucks the courage from, but he leans over and kisses her and it is even better than the first time. Perhaps it doesn’t matter where the courage comes from, perhaps courage, like a kiss, is an act of love.

“I don’t want to be just friends either.”

“Good.”

The morning comes all too quickly and they have to go down to the school to pick up their results but first Mary serves up piles of toast, bacon and fried tomatoes.

“C’mere to me,” she says sternly, pulling a bottle of holy water shaped like the Virgin Mary out the press and dousing the five of them like a hoard of badly behaved cats.

“I think it’s a wee bit late for divine intervention, Mammy,” Erin grimaces.

“Whisht you,” Mary scolds. “It’ll do no harm. Now wains, get away on down to that school and the best of luck to yous.”

They walk to Our Lady Immaculate for the last time together and it feels so familiar, Michelle’s loud cursing and Clare’s anxious muttering and Orla’s oddly dream-like observations. But this time Erin slips her hand into his and that makes all the difference.

Things are bound to change but James isn’t worried. Not as long as he can keep holding her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know what to say except I've been in lockdown for far too long and this is what happened.
> 
> Find me raving about Derry Girls on tumblr @milfsarahmccool
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


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